I am The Doctor. I thought I’d get that out of the way as quick as possible. I’m an old man who travels around in a box. And I’m tired. And alone. I miss being normal. I love the attention I get from humans. I do. But I’d love to just be normal. To be in Gallifrey again with my friends and family. Or even to be a human. I just don’t want to be alone anymore.
I get off the bed. It’s not right for any doctor to be seen as a layabout. I move through my hallways, my constantly changing hallways. My TARDIS is my only true companion. It’s a reflection of myself because just as I change on the outside and never on the inside the TARDIS does the opposite.
I like the Big Blue Box. I could fix that Chameleon Circuit in a second. Easy as. But I need the Blue Box. In the ever-changing sea of faces in my life it’s the one that never changes. Always here for me. It’s my home.
Of course this isn’t the side of me that people see. But people aren’t going to get in a box with a mopey alien. This doesn’t mean that my excitable side is a mere fabrication. I do enjoy what I do. But it’s the parts in between. When my companion has either realized the danger that I am or the danger has already gotten them.
I pass the control room but I’m not going anywhere. I keep walking the hallways, heading to the kitchen.
I am sick. I am a madman. I snatch people from the earth and take them with me so that I might have some company. Of course they enjoy it, but they don’t realize that it just isn’t safe. Just like a drug addict enjoys drugs that will kill them. I know it’s not right but there’s nothing I can do. I can abstain from finding a companion for a short while but I can live for so long and my lonely future stretches out into this interminable distance In front of me and I buckle. I crave companionship.
That’s why I save these humans. They look just like the time-lords. They think I’m some protector, some god from on-high. They don’t realize that I destroyed a race that looks identical to them and that I only do these things out of misplaced guilt. And then I string one or two of them along with me and I act like I’m this paragon of virtue when I’m really just this lonely, wicked man.
I have only four regenerations left now. I am painfully aware of this. But I’m also growing sick of this mind. There is a part of me that is inherently me, inherently my conscious and then there is the main part, my current incarnation. And the part of mind that is my basic instinct grows bored with a personality after time. It’s at these points that I wilfully put myself into danger, hoping to be wounded enough so that I can regenerate.
Of course, I can regenerate using my mind. But that’s viewed almost as a form of suicide back on Gallifrey. Much better to go out in a blaze of glory. I look forward to the regenerations. The ultimate feeling of power and energy. I become time as my entire system rewrites itself to something brand new and fresh and awesome.
I reach the kitchen and begin to pour myself a cup of tea. Tea. I’m becoming more human every day. I remember when I first started this mad tirade around the galaxy, when humans were just as bizarre as any other alien. Now I identify with them more anything. Sometimes I forget that I’m not one of them. Halfway through laughing at a joke, or having a chat with a companion in the control room, I forget I’m not one of them. They can get up and leave the TARDIS whenever they want. I’m stuck here.
I guess that’s why I move around so much. The TARDIS’s infinite space grows a bit confining over time. I need to experience new things.
So I go out and experience new things and save the world time and time again. And sometimes that makes me scared. I go into the past of earth and I find some attempt to destroy it and I thwart it and it’s over with. But then I start thinking, how many of these do I have to stop. How many attempts were made to gain power or enslave or commit genocide or millions of other crimes? How many do I have to stop?
How long must I do this for? Another few hundred years? Thousands?
That isn’t my biggest fear. My biggest fear is that I’ll be punished. Somehow, someway, what I did to the Time-Lords will come back to haunt me. No matter how much I repent by saving human lives, it will never be enough to change what I did. But I wasn’t The Doctor then. I was young.
Not like it matters. I finish the tea and leave the kitchen.
Now I must go find another companion, but they find me just as I find them. I will go somewhere, anywhere. I will be myself and a girl – it’s always a girl – will make herself known to me. I’ll crack a joke or two and she’ll be enchanted, I’ll take her hand, She’ll say it’s bigger on the inside, We’ll go on adventures together, we will nearly die, we will cry, we will bond and then she will leave me. Just like everybody else.
I head to the control room and start the TARDIS moving. The whooshing noise, my favourite noise in the world, begins. I am The Doctor. I am alone.